New Horizons
by juliasejanus
Summary: In the 1960's, NEMESIS Spies Craig, Richard and Sharon were enhanced with super strength and psychic awareness, using their powers in secret. In the present day, Alex recovers from a similar experience to meet Sharon and Richard, two of these original agents. Both appear to be in their late thirties still, not their actual age of over seventy. CROSSOVER THE CHAMPIONS & ALEX RIDER
1. Chapter 1

The teenager woke and his whole world was unimaginable pain and extreme cold. Everything was white, as ice needles stung his exposed flesh. There was no blanket of sleep beaconing eternal rest. Screams of agony as he moved pwere drowned out by the howl of the storm. The teenager quelled the panic of no lights, no stars, no hope. Alone and the certainty that no one would save him. He strove to stand, not put off by failing, he slowly crawled forward on the icy ridge, heading down slope from the drift of fresh snow where he had landed. His fight and effort were observed. As he struggled, his determination was earning him a chance of living, beyond all hope. A slim figure dressed, in loose silken robes and sandals, moved from her sheltered hiding spot. Her blond hair whipped in the wind wildly. Alex looked up at the stranger and she read his lips as he called her mum, as his words were lost in the gale.

...

In the foyer of SIS Headquarters was the wall commemorating agents killed in action, including those unlucky enough to work for special operations. Tulip Jones looked at the names, most unknown to her, but some had been friends, colleagues and rivals. One very unofficial agent would not be commemorated here, Alex Rider had been killed in action three days before his sixteenth birthday.

The deep cover CIA agent had confirmed his execution, thrown out of a plane over the Himalayas. His fate gloated over by their person of interest. His body lay somewhere remote, lost in the snow and ice. The fall itself was not survivable, even with the long run of Rider luck. A quick death, considering the altitude and extreme cold. Sucking on a mint humbug, resisting the urge to chew on the soft centre was her way of coping with her hard decisions, and then loss after loss. Of all the Rider's, Alex had been the most courageous, selfless and talented. It was a despicable waste of a young life, when his youth and guile had failed to save him. Gerrard Howard had known all about MI6's most successful back ops agent, having acquired a copy of Harry Bulman's files. It had been a dirty, hopeless job from the start. The teenager had posed as an underage escort. That legend now tainting his memory, as M had insisted on a full cover up.

In Law, you can't slander the dead. MI6 needed to distance its own culpability in the murder of their teen operative, so the reputation of Alex Rider was tarnished, by his last undercover legend as a child sex worker. Running away, serial absences from school and unexplained injuries over the past eighteen months now easily passed off as being groomed and exploited. A far easier fate to explain than being a successful agent for Her Majesty's Secret Service.

The woman's eyes took in every name. The safety and security of millions for the lives of a few. This grief like a sledgehammer, as her own guilty conscience whispered his blood was on her hands. She almost relished the confrontation with Edward Pleasure, as he knew the truth, but without hard poof it was hearsay and conjecture. The British press already had the salacious version of events. An orphaned boy from Chelsea, grieving, duped and groomed, blond and beautiful selling himself after being bullied at school. All evidence of a life in free fall missed by the school, the authorities and former friends. Front page news on all the tabloids and broad sheets alike named Alex and his last John, insinuating a far seedier fate in Howard's hands.

...

Half way across the world, Richard felt Sharon's anger as he looked over the lights of San Francisco. Too far away for more than the flash of extreme emotion. His friend was ever even tempered, calm and devoted to the healing arts. She was studying the medical advances of the healing flames of the hidden city. The ancient enclave devoted to peace and serenity. He frowned wondering what had caused this extreme, because whatever had angered Sharon was likely to require his skills as a negotiator and agent for change unhindered by the secrecy of his friend's home.

Forty years ago, Richard had been eager to confront their rescuers, now he was happier living in the outside world. He was no scholar, monk or pacifist. He was too much of a fighter to find lasting peace there. Rather than hide, he evolved a legend to live openly. Wealth afforded you the luxury of eccentricity, where differences from the norm were more acceptable. He lived simply and generously funded advancements in a variety of scientific fields, conservation, environmental causes and fighting poverty, hunger and ignorance. He knew instinctively that he was needed with his friends. Delegation and a good team meant his business corporation worked efficiently without the need for his hands on participation.

The former spy had been complacent too long. Too busy looking at numbers and not at the horizon nor checking his back. Craig would tear him a new one for being the epitome of rich plutocrat blinkered by his own wealth and importance.

...

Alex woke with a start, like he was falling out of the plane again, only to find himself on the narrow floorspace between berths on a small yacht. He frowned momentarily, the only person he connect with a yacht before was a dead assassin and Cray's monstrosity of a floating gin palace. He took a look into the main cabin, this boat was only about 40ft at most from the dimensions of the tiny galley and seating area with every available wall and ceiling space used a storage. This place was safe and secure. There were no enemies here. His dream had been of the last thing he remembered clearly from his previous life, getting turfed out of Gerrard the Horrible's plane, the gangster laughing at the undercover agent's certain death. Without a parachute over the Himalayas, he had blacked out before he hit the ground. Since his miraculous recovery, he had often wondered if this the afterlife. Each time he woke from this recurring nightmare he expected Yassen at the helm.

He closed his eyes and could recall a jumble of disconnected images of a blond haired doctor, a strange room and flashing lights. Not any known hospital or medical procedure in Tibet or Bhutan. He had woken up from his coma with Richard tending to him, after an unbelievable rescue not the expected snowy grave. He had no obvious injuries, in fact he felt 110%, better than before. Wonderful, like he could sense his entire cell structure was working and his brain had full recall of events long past. He could hear the wind hitting the sails above, the slap of waves, the tension in ropes and pulleys and the breathing of the captain, deep and regular. In his mind's eye, he could see the older man, washing him, changing drips and feed bags. He knew this stranger's care and the fact he had been unresponsive for weeks, but could recall the stories Richard had told him and that his friend Sharon had found him. This new knowledge was comforting, the man had been a spy in his younger days, who had faked his own death. Alex opened his eyes and stood up, the swell of the sea compensated for, as he moved silently to the open hatch.


	2. Chapter 2

The man who owned the yacht had once been known as Richard Barrett. After crossing the Pacific, they were on course, the California coast just coming into view, the captain fully aware his fellow traveller as awake weeks earlier than expected. A miracle, considering Sharon had found the critically injured teenager still conscious and barely alive and she had fought hard to save him. Unlike their own plane crash, It had been two weeks, not hours of hard work to repair the extensive damage from the attempt on the teenager's life. Cold had been the critical factor that had saved the fifteen year old, slowing his vital signs, though Alex had fought hard as well, never giving up.

Without looking away from the horizon the man now known as the recluse Richard De Vere greeted his adopted son, "Its good to see up up and about, Alex."

The teenager looked over the sea, to the land visible to the east and enjoyed the feel of the sun on his skin. He was familiar with this man, as he was with his saviour in Tibet. Aware of them, familiar, as their thoughts and feelings were shared. "Sharon owes you a steak dinner, kind of overestimated how long it would take me to wake up. So, when will we arrive in San Francisco?"

"We'll berth in San Diego this evening. It's been a long journey and we could do with a decent meal and some rest and relaxation. You have lost a lot of muscle mass. The nutrition plan will give people not in the know impression you have anorexia."

Alex shrugged. After the facial reconstruction, which had subtly reshaped his jaw, cheekbones and nose; he doubted even Tom would recognise him. He did not sound the same, his voice deeper and more gravelly. There were no scars remaining from his past adventures, no fillings or signs of previous dental work. Gone was his toned physique as he was now wraith thin as well. Sharon's long term rehabilitation plan would see him back at his ideal weight and correct muscle mass in seven to nine months. The last undercover legend had him living on stress alone for two months, loosing kilos in weight, as waif-like heroin chic was the ideal for the sicko bastard into grooming street kids. "I get recovery, even with my new normal with be slow and steady." The teenager then changed direction, not wanting to reflect on his brush with death and very publicised sad demise, as he was now Richard's son with an impeccably constructed background. The fake son of a multimillionaire with a 100% fake background to boot. "So, your place is on Russian Hill?"

"I bought it back in 1985 to rent out. Now, I need a family home. We'll drive up tomorrow. Just so you know, I'm known as a recluse. My portfolio has been built on my skill set in espionage. For twenty years I've spent most of my time living like a hermit, not drawing attention to myself as I made money through rather nefarious business practices. Digging the dirt on those in power and sticking my hands in their money pots. A mix of industrial espionage, blackmail and insider dealing. Just as nasty as working for Nemesis, MI6 or SCORPIA. I have crossed paths with several notable persons from your past as my business dealings have included Michael Roscoe, David Friend and Dieter Sprintz, but I have never met any of them personally. De Vere Investments has accrued hundreds of millions, none made not for personal gain, but funding ecological and social projects across the globe. The plan to ensure a better future for all by exploiting the greedy and the polluters. I deal with the financial holdings, where Sharon protects the hidden enclave and Craig is a political animal, very Machiavellian. You will get to finish your education and you may decide on a life of service by hiding in plain sight, be it through medicine, espionage, politics or plan to be your own person or go back to the hidden city. You are still a child and there is no payment expected for your recovery. We will educate and let you explore your gifts as a boon to help you adapt and survive. I expect my parenting skills will need sharpening, as I am a complete novice in that area. Think of the next few years as more of an apprenticeship in the ultimate escape and evade."

In the two hours sailing to the Shelter Island marina, Alex learned about Richard's past life as an agent. Major Barrett had served in the Kings Own Regiment, after Eton and Sandhurst, seconded to the UN Nemesis Taskforce in a Geneva after five years black ops at MI6 in 1966 and then faking his own demise in 1972. Escaping under a new legend he had travelled back to Shangri-la to join his former team members, Sharon and Craig, both had been reported missing during the Indo-Pakistan War the previous year. He smiled at Richard's use of the fictionalised name used to describe the legendary hidden city in the mountains on the roof of the world. Death had been the only option in the end, as Nemesis' apparent success had become suspicious and any agent at the sharp end eventually ran out of luck. There had been whispers and suspicion of collusion after Tremayne retired. Too many questions over their 100% success rate in high risk operations. Dying on the job was seen by colleagues as long overdue. After the plane crash in 1968, former team mates had been the only people he trusted because they shared this secret. His friends had married after retiring from government service in 1970, then travelled east for charity work in Northern India, then disappearing. Thirty years later, the three of them had barely aged. Each looked a fit forty something, not their actual ages of nearly seventy. As Richard De Vere, there had been no need to be a public figure, when business could be conducted by phone, fax and bank transfer in the days before email. Rich but not in the Forbes 100, in the eighties and nineties no one cared about a money man too boring to party, socialise or advertise his wealth. This was the transition from legend to reality. The past would only be discussed when they were alone in a secure location. This millionaire's teenage son had survived a plane crash in Bhutan, his mother and step father killed, surviving and walking to the nearest settlement to explain the physical and psychological after effects of his nefarious past.

Tired and wanting a bath, the blond teenager jumped onto the jetty to secure the mooring. Father and son were dressed down, canvas shoes, jeans and plaid shirts. Two matching small canvas overnight bags were thrown by the father to his son. Passports were checked, then customs forms signed A sedan and driver were waiting. Like Richard, spying was in the past for the sixteen year old. He was entering a life of luxury, and the unfamiliar security of family with this unexpected future.

The concierge was snooty until he put two and two together, connecting the name on the passport supplied for the reservation of the Family Suite to the owner of the hotel group. Rumours had surfaced, since the group revamp three years ago, of the sacking of managers at other hotels following in this unassuming guest's wake.

Richard was handed the keys for the suite as the manager showed theses guests around their suite. "Thank you, Max for following my fax instructions to the letter. Please serve a light supper in an hour. You have my son's nutritional requirements. I swear it's just an overnight stay. We need to get home, it's quite a drive tomorrow so we need a good nights rest." A traumatised son's severe phobia of flying explained Richard's decision to sail from India to California, delegating his business interests to his team of assistants.


	3. Chapter 3

Last summer, Alex had seen a therapist at the insistence of the Pleasure's after Cairo. The situation was now reversed, Jack was alive and he was the one dead and buried. He wondered if Jack or Tom were in therapy. He doubted Tom was, the last time he made it to school, Alex's best friend since Year 7 had a new constant companion in Trisha Michelson, who was one of the more vocal of the Druggy Rider hate club. School had been toxic and his relationship with Jack had suffered by his foul mood; hence volunteering as a raven for the honey trap.

Richard was in full handler mode and sifted out the real issues from the superfluous details. Alex's grief was real. His anger was real. The alienation he felt was real. The strangeness of his new reality was a major adjustment. His past traumas needed to be resolved even if they were dressed up in his fabricated history. Truth John and Helen Rider had died in a plane crash, then Ian died violently, then Razim fabricated Jack's death in a car bombing. He needed to resolve the loss of his past life. Specifics and generalities were addressed as he talked of this new life and missing the globe trotting adventures of his old life. The smoke was the need for an eating plan after his months of self starvation while undercover. Hence as Xand, his mom and stepdad died just after his fourteenth birthday, both workaholics often leaving their child with staff, hence abandonment issues with physical, psychological and sexual abuse since their deaths.

The exercise in organising your own legend was not a novelty for Alex. Covered with infiltration and disguise during classes at Malagosto. After evading threats and nearly dying a violent death, being double crossed and left high dry: the high likelihood of needing a quick exit meant after returning from Australia, the fourteen year old had secured a false identity and stashed funds in case he was burned.

Richard was offering a belt and braces approach for his new background, as his teenage son with some serious issues and seven months of school to catch up on. Using Ian and Jack as the basis of fictional mom and step dad, when neither were the parent type meant he could discuss his shitty childhood in detail. The disaster since crossing Blunt's path could be explained away by the sudden death of the caregivers far from civilization and Alex having to survive in a hostile environment. Richard had the trail of evidence for an emergency call to a remote hospital, to the family court in Bhutan awarding custody.

During the car journey to San Francisco, Alex brushed up on basic Dzongkha, Lepcha and Nepali. Arriving at their new home late in the evening, both travellers retired to the adjoining master suites on the second floor.

The next morning, Richard gave Alex the full house tour, including home cinema, spa and gym and double garage; drove home the lifestyle upgrade. The businessman had hired a housekeeper, so the pantry and refrigerator were stocked up and the house was both spotlessly clean and expertly dressed, down to clothes in the closets and products in the bathrooms. Carla had even left out breakfast. Staff arriving tomorrow included a PA, Katrina, who was organising a suitable tutor for a home schooled sixteen year old with a background of schooling in over a dozen countries.

As a spy, Alex had played the game of average teenage male with Tamara and Sabina, flirting to appear heterosexual, when the real teenager had figured out he was attracted to guys. There was no need to be macho and live up to Ian's ideal to fit in at all costs. For the Alex Rider living with Jack and the Pleasure's had already hidden behind a mask, less morphing into a stranger called Xand DeVere, he was free of his past and the baggage that came with it and could be himself without fear.

The medical file was based on a teenager surviving Eighteen months of hell, before his "dad" tracked him down. The relic from the Cold War had shown the kid blackmailed into black ops how a proper agent/handler relationship was meant to work, with full debrief, both for operational details and to access the psychological impact on the agent. Alan Blunt, John Crawley and Tulip Jones had all treated Ian Rider's nephew as an external resource, only receiving the bare minimum of health care and no follow up for PT or therapy. By saying he'd been on his own from just after his fourteen birthday to September, the therapist and paediatrician were under no illusions that they had their work cut out.

Richard used his own indignation and anger at MI6 to fuel his rant about finding out his son had survived the plane crash that killed his mother and her husband. "The bastards at the British embassy wanted me to prove than Xand was my son. His old passport and birth certificate not good enough as proof, like either I or a fifteen year old were an imposters trying to unlawfully claim to be British, just because he'd been born in Laos not London. I went for full guardianship in the court in Bhutan then. Emergency US citizenship was granted for Xand, no problem. The limeys were a real piece of work."

The sixteen year old remained silent, letting Richard handle the medical professionals and appearing reserved and shy. Two personality traits of a weary kid, untrusting of adults. Getting measured, weighted and having his heart checked for damage was a more thorough medical than any done by MI6 or the CIA. Underweight, but otherwise healthy, he was another checkup in a month and the health plan supplied by Sharon approved with no amendments.

As he entered Dr. Phillips , call me Mae-Anne's consulting rooms, in the relaxed decor perfect for this specialist in traumatised and abused teenagers. The whole set up screamed best available and no expense spared. For the first time, the former spy spoke freely, needing no prompting nor leaving an awkward silence, "Hope you told mother-hen sat out there to have some me time. Then again, spending six weeks together 24/7 means we were either gonna bond as friends or kill each other. My phobia over flying had at least one bonus. So, are we talking about now, the bit I don't want to discuss or the fact mom and her asshat husband were too engrossed in each other to give a shit about me. Which brings us full circle as dad dropped everything, and I mean everything as in not one meeting, business call or even reading the financials since he bailed me out in Bhutan. So, is my hero worship of Richard the honeymoon phase or am I justified in thinking his idea of being not the dad type it's actually what a dad should actually be, cause the jerks who were actually meant to be a parental figures were the opposite and I tried so hard for them to notice me." The doc knew this was a diversionary tactic, but talking freely was better than Alex's previous attempt at psychotherapy, when he'd refused to talk about anything beyond polite greetings and the weather. He would be visiting the good doctor twice a week, come rain or shine until he was in college, possibly even then. Richard had been adamant that PTSD and trauma caused by MI6 needed to be raked over by using the sessions and talking actual operational details out with Richard.

...

Four months after the reported murder of a fifteen year old sex worker, Chelsea and Kensington Council had published their review into the exploitation of an at risk teenager with no legal guardian, resulting in his trafficking abroad and murder. An American housekeeper, Jack Starbright, had provided the role of adult supervision in the home of a banker, but after his death she with no legal responsibilities. Without any home visits nor any back up from the fostering team, there was no evidence that she provided a stable home environment, the only fact of note was that she had overstayed a student visa by several years. Deported in February, before the committee convened, she had been unable to give evidence in person and had declined to supply a statement, pleading her rights under the US constitution's fifth amendment.

Witnesses from Social services, Brookland School and the police had detailed missed signs, which in retrospect, pointed to a child acting out and in need of an adult or official intervention and protection. Council procedures in place meant Alexander Rider should have assessed by a home visit at the least and without a relative or appointed guardian should have been fostered after his uncle's death, but the police and coroner at his uncle's inquest had failed to contact social services. In the months that followed the fourteen year old had been arrested twice, there had been numerous complaints by the school over an unsuitable home situation after serial absences for various illnesses and a catalogue of serious injuries requiring lengthy hospital visits. None of the sick notes could be confirmed by Alexander's GP, who had not been visited in that time frame despite complications from flu and a reported appendectomy. Two instances of running away, for most of the autumn term after a school trip to Italy and then again for two weeks the following term. The medical records from St. Domino's Hospital made grim reading.

The school also highlighted multiple instances of Alexander being ostracised and bullied in Year 10, when he had no friends and no support network. Compounding small breaches in procedure had led to his death. The report concluded the police, school nor any social worker were to blame, but procedures needed to be followed in future.

The details and resulting exoneration were grim reading for the teachers and staff at Brookland. No reprimands, but an overhaul of their follow procedures in future cases of breavement, custody disputes and serial absences or running away. A memorial garden was suggested by the PTA. Mr. Bray had dismissed Alex as an out of control trouble maker after the arrests. The boy had never once spoken of problems, but the psychological profile meant he had been blackmailed or threatened to comply and remain silent. Two serious criminal acts and he had not even been cautioned. Whoever was behind his grooming was powerful and likely connected to the bank Alex's uncle worked for. Hearsay not officially concluded, but hinted at by the piece in the a Guardian and mirroring the statements by both the police and social workers.


	4. Chapter 4

Forty miles to San Francisco and Alex began to recognise place names and the odd landmark from the two months he lived here with the Pleasures. In a weird way, it was going to make this new home work. Richard then switched stations from talk radio to a classical music CD. "This isn't going to be like before. This is your life, not just a legend. It was easier for me in a way, I'd had a decade to work the personal details and my game plan. I'm still in the Great Game, just without the strings of politics and national interest. Surviving the plane crash made me realise patriotism is a smokescreen, hiding the sins of complacency and complicity . I was saved from becoming a man like Alan Blunt, one willing to sacrifice all morals to get the job done."

Alex snorted, "don't sugar coat the truth. Ian was a complete cunt as well." Assessing their relationship in hindsight and without the rose tinted view of a child desperate for love and approval, Ian Rider had never provided a stable and loving parental figure. The man as cold and calculating as Blunt. Twisting the unconditional love of an innocent to train a child to be a detached and resourceful spy with no strong emotional attachments to anyone or anything. By the time his nephew was in school, Alex like a proper suck-up, stuck to the game plan and used Ian as a guide; only excelling at approved activities, quashing childish wants and needs and hiding any personality traits at odds with the ideal to appear average, normal and one of the crowd. The pattern engrained even at Malagosto, they only saw what The teenager wanted or expected them to see.

"So, it was easier to build a new life as a foreign raised Britiian, relocating to the US and starting anew. It's life changing but by being completely honest with myself, I am not lying or fooling others. No deception or charade, just actuality. We are team now. Not ideal, nowhere near normal, but I will provide you with stability both financially and emotionally to the best of my ability considering you are an adult. If you want within a year you could get emancipated and live alone, but being your father does provide you cover and support. Take things slow, you have grown several inches so we are similar heights. Being severely underweight and your reconstructed facial features and fingerprints mean there are no physical links to your past. After twenty years, I miss my old face on occasion. I was a handsome chap. The process Sharon devised does take away a certain uniqueness by averaging out distinctive features. Do you miss your moles?"

Considering himself in the small mirror on the passenger windscreen shade, he had not missed them until Richard brought it up. "No. Isn't that weird. Goodbye spy, say hello the real me, Richard; because I am not hiding anything now. Warts and all." Alex chuckled at the pun.

...

As summer passed into the autumn, the two De Vere's had fallen into a routine of keeping fit, self reliance while working and easy camaraderie. Fridays meant dad got a break from parental duties as his only child volunteered at the nearby teenage resource centre during the day and at the homeless shelter in the evenings. Xand was making friends as well as connecting with others who had been threatened, abused and forgotten. He still went to his scheduled group therapy sessions at the centre, but the big incentive on extracurricular activities was the junk food he ate away from home, be it a burrito, a deli sandwich, cheeseburger or pizza. Food in the US was great, but Richard stuck rigidly to Sharon's eating plan of health home cooked food, his only saving grace was teaching Alex how to cook and having a wondrous variety of curry recipes which were both healthy and nutritious from the older spies own childhood in Bengal, Kashmir and Malaya.

As usual on a Friday, Alex got home just before midnight, tired and in need of a snack. He had learned the hard way not to bring home anything deemed unhealthy. Out of sight out of mind principal as it was fine to eat whatever you wanted away from Carla and dad, but chips, donuts and candy went straight in the garbage if they came home. In the pantry, there was the blandness of rice or oat cakes, fruit and veg a plenty in the refrigerator and in the fruit bowl, but Alex poured his millet cereal into a cup as his snack of choice and poured a glass of skimmed organic milk. Richard arrived in the kitchen with an empty brandy glass, just as the teenager drained the last of a second glass of milk.

He sat opposite his son, who was adding his snack to his food diary app. Rubbing his beard, the business magnate aired the need to disturb their routine, "Can you pack enough for four days away. Unexpected business problem in Kobe. Make it for seven days and we can add on a few days skiing in Sapporo. Might as well mix business and pleasure."

From their shared empathic link, Alex knew today had been a shitstorm already. "You got pretty angry earlier, so is it a real FUBAR and how much money have you lost?" Alex queried. He knew Richard's real bugbear was inefficiency, sloppiness and stupidity.

The guy sighed, hands on management meant his preferred role as mysterious recluse was compromised. "Customs check on one of the shipping container yards has lead to notice of prosecution and a potential large fine. Failure of in place procedures as usual. I need to smooth things over, review the management team, maybe I instigate some training and more likely sack those who decided they were too important for such trivialities. No one will be getting a bonus this year to cover my consultancy fee. I'm very much in Scrooge McDuck mode, as you put it."

"I take it's not criminal charges then? Though, if it's human trafficking please play bad cop for me." Alex shuddered at his own grim memories of Wu's export business trading on human misery. It was a connection that might be relevant to Richard's problems. "Expect Yakuza or Triad involvement if it is."

Richard gave Alex's comment his full attention, realising he was thinking inside the box as an internal procedural problem, not criminal activity with an outside source. "Your right, now I need to make a few phone calls and think major FUBAR not a minor inconvenience. You just earned your own consultancy fee. FYI, I will outsource the investigation. No more acting on your own, that's one character trait that is firmly left in the past." Richard smiled, "your input is welcomed and I will always give it my full attention. You are an adult worthy of any consultant, so you will be rewarded as such. Expect a much larger allowance this month. You will be assigned security once we land. If we are about to spoil a criminal import/export operation, those sort of thugs will see you as a soft target."

Alex would endure babysitting, but snorted in amusement. "Soft target indeed. In the past, most who saw me as that ended up having extremely messy accidents and their bases of operations tended to go boom, burn down or have a hostile take over. Though Arkangel was totally not my fault. All part of Drevin's plan, I just made sure to crashed in the Pacific."

Richard grimaced rather than chuckled, "I can only hope your disaster streak is ended, agent of chaos is no longer on your resume. Analyst no field operative from now on. I left wet work behind. Craig still enjoys that sort of thing. How about the nickname Loki or Kala to warn the uninitiated."

"I'll accept being called Kala, if this routine business trip turns out to be a massive shit-fest." Alex liked the idea of a genuine term of endearment for his luck at surviving against the odds. It was weird but this was the first time he looked back and realised he'd never earned a code name before, either with MI6, the CIA or even at Malagosto. He shuddered thinking of the crap epithet he could have been landed with, probably just as a derisory as Cub or Double-o-nothing from Brecon. "Please warn me if Mikato or Dr Three are in the mix, because I'll stay in the hotel and pretend to have agoraphobia."

For the first time, Richard directly spoke of Alex's past associates. "You have nothing to fear over them. Mikato was assassinated by the Yamato clan last year, as the demise of SCORPIA made him a viable target. Brendan Chase has been trying to consolidate Wu's triad with limited success because of factional infighting and the zero tolerance policy of Australian law enforcement, customs and security services. Dr Three still publishes genuine psychology papers under his real name, but he was always more interested in his own area of expertise and teaching. He is over eighty now and is no longer a major player."


End file.
